A Dangerous Game
by devilsalt
Summary: Sequel to A Dangerous Thing. The Knight-Captain was a changed man, and Astrid Amell, she was an apostate. Their forbidden past would be a dangerous tool in the wrong hands, but Cullen must know why she came to Kirkwall. As for the mage, she has been both haunted and hunted since that fateful night she escaped. Everything has changed, but has their feelings? Rated T for now.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR NOTE— At long last, my sequel for _A Dangerous Thing. _Title may change, just as a heads up.**

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**_THE FORBIDDEN PROLOGUE_**

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The torrential downpour had left him cold, confused, and promptly seeking shelter in the Chantry as he came upon it. Two towering doors creaked anciently at his entrance, an intruding draft leaving candles without a flame. Knight-Captain Cullen walked precariously towards the first terrace—distracted—his thoughts carrying him past someone who was already here. He didn't notice—couldn't notice—the night's mirage of rain and mist had played games with him his entire shift, leaving him deep in thought. It started at the gallows. Across the courtyard, through the storm's first drizzle, was a familiar silhouette that could not exist—not in Kirkwall, not in this life. Cullen stepped into the candlelight, welcoming their warmth, however weak it may be. He was tired, beyond exhausted with the new recruits he was assigned, and the rain was merely taking advantage of that. _It was nothing._

Cullen mentally shook away any lingering thoughts and began pulling his leather gloves off, fingers numb from being soaked to the bone. He noticed then, a shadow moving from the corner of his eye, another seeking shelter from this dreadful rain. "Chapel is closed tonight," he authoritatively spoke, mindless to the patron and rubbing his hands together. "Any peace you wish to make with the Maker can wait until tomorrow," he finished, voice heavy with sovereignty.

"I'm afraid I can't slip into the fade tonight."

A coldness crawled up the templar's neck, deft and hair-raising like a spider. Suddenly the Chantry was shrinking, the elaborate decor poor in comparison to Kirkwall's lavish tapestries and effigies of Andraste. Pews, worn and creaky, sprung before him. Cullen's palm warmed from the burning torch he abruptly carried towards the front of the chamber. Someone still remained in the Chantry, doused in shadow as he rounded the first pew. "Excuse me! The Chantry is closed!" he bellowed, outmatched by a rumble of thunder. Silence met him. Frustrating silence. "I said, the Chantry is closed—"

"I—I'm sorry Ser." A young man cowered under the templar's shadow. "I'm afraid I can't see through the rain tonight, I've gotten all mixed around...haven't been in Kirkwall long Ser," the man stammered, eyes pleading for him to accept his excuse.

He was in the Chantry again—Kirkwall's Chantry.

Cullen abruptly noticed his fist tangled in the man's collar and recoiled, recollecting himself. "Very well," glancing down, he took notice to the strangling grip he had on his sword. "I expect you to quickly find your way home once the rain has let up, understood."

The refugees gaze had wandered to the templar's sword as well. "Yes of course, thank you very much Ser!" The Knight-Captain acknowledged the stranger with a nod and left hastily for the door.

In a moment of weakness, Cullen allowed thoughts of _her_ to command him, and his weariness summoned old long forgotten memories. The templar was no stranger to these illusions, but it had been a while since he had visited this one. He had long suppressed any memories of her, locked away and never to be disturbed again. The rain and the cold had made his mind weak, but devoted practice and training had made him stronger than his previous life. Knight-Commander Meredith taught him to be a better templar since his arrival, a better man. Allowing the rain and the mist to play tricks with his mind was beneath him. He wouldn't allow her to cloud his judgement ever again.

He reached the door, a flare of lightning passed through the growing crack in the door, and stopped him in his tracks. There was a clatter of thunder and lightning again, illuminating someone who sought to enter.

Blood red tresses. A peak of scarred skin. Parted ruby lips. Dark blue eyes. All so foreign to Cullen, yet so familiar, and standing before him.

"Ah, shit—" she turned heel and immediately began the parade down the Chapel steps.

Instinct took over and Cullen followed after her, "Stop!"

She ignored him, taking two steps at a time and quickly gaining distance.

He jumped the last gathering of steps, soaking his boots to the knee, grip back on the hilt of his blade. "Stop right there mage!" he called through the rain.

The world suddenly felt very still and timeless, with Cullen waiting for her to turn and face him. All the while wondering—praying—it was another illusion. She turned, streaks of her red hair clung to the curve of her face, over white scars. The Knight-Captain froze. His sword-hand trembled. It was _her_. And her face was contorted in an expression he had never seen before—not on _his_ Astrid. The fearful and gentle woman he knew was not standing before him any longer. She faced him fully and marched towards him, stopping herself. "Mage!?" she scowled, snickering before turning back to continue her escape.

"The Order dictates!" Knight-Captain Cullen regained himself, matching her scowl and drawing his sword.

Cullen saw her flinch.

"You draw your sword on me?" Astrid cried, as her head twitched and her body crippled over, clutching at her head.

Signs Cullen knew too well. A part of him, he thought long gone, drew the Knight-Captain to approach her. Wondering why she was grunting in agony and barely keeping her footing. "You're a mage," he repeated, "and The Order dictates—"

Astrid recoiled from his outstretched hand, "Do. Not. Touch. Me."

The Knight-Captain drew back himself, careful of the sudden sword that glittered at his throat as lightning tore through the sky again.

"I knew you would be a changed man after everything you—we've endured, by coming here. But I did not think you would be a different man."

It was his turn to scoff, "And you an apostate." Cullen reflected her sword away and kept it raised, angled at her, "Don't force my hand."

"Do not force mine," Astrid repeated and raised her blade again, pushing the point into the guard at his neck. "Believe it or not—templar—it was not my choice."

He had only seen her wield a blade once, back at the Circle and against a blood mage. Then, she was a damaged mage on the brink of madness, barely able to balance herself holding a sword with two hands. Now Astrid was as balanced as an Orlesian dancer, grip strong and confident. However, turmoil still stirred behind the mage's eyes. She was just as changed as he, and she had the scars to prove it. The face he once watched longingly from a distance had long sinewy marks along her left cheek, now white and smooth from healing. They matched the ones he knew she had on her hands.

She stiffened when he moved, "Don't—"

Cullen yanked on her wrist, pulling her closer, but her sword away. Astrid fought him as much as she could, knuckles white as she pushed against his strong grip. She was twitching again, head swaying from side to side as she avoided his gaze. The templar touched her face. His calloused thumb brushing over the ridge of her scarring, feeling the heat of her skin seep into his cold fingers. At last he forced her to look at him, "Why did you come here Astrid, to Kirkwall of all places?" She refused to meet his eyes again. "Why?" he bellowed, "You know the the Commander's reputation here—"

Suddenly the mage had head-butted him and threw the templar away from her. He clattered to the ground and noticed relief cross her face, but only briefly. Her brows furrowed together and a hand touched her chin, wiping blood away. Astrid stumbled back and glanced at Cullen one last time. She replaced her sword into a leather scabbard at her waist and turned to disappear.

"Wait! Astrid. Wait—" The Knight-Captain scattered to his feet, but she was but a faint shadow through the rain.

He looked at his sword and saw red.

Cullen held his blade in the rain until the blood was gone and then found himself just standing there, watching the direction she had left in. The templar in him wanted to pursue the apostate—Astrid—bring her to the Gallows, to the Knight-Commander. However, what little remained of his former self could not condemn her to this 'prison'. The Templars here were different, even more corrupt. He would not chance having her at the mercy of their hands—or his. Their past was dangerous here. Being in Kirkwall, he has seen the punishments for such a dangerous relationship; witnessed it first hand on several occasions. If he wasn't careful, it could be Astrid and him.

"Why..." he whispered, "Why are you here?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: This was originally the first chapter, but I wanted something to reflect the first chapter from A Dangerous Thing, thus this became chapter two. I'm excited to have Astrid interact with the companions of DAII, especially Hawke. As I am working on this, I will be going back and editing A Dangerous Thing. Some things will change a little and some might change a lot, so keep an eye out if you are interested, and I'll be making announcements of any updates on my page. Anyhow, enjoy, and please let me know what you think :)**

* * *

_**THREE REASONS**_

* * *

At last she reached the tavern—The Hanged Man—marked by an effigy of its namesake. She could hear the clinking of drinks and drunken merriment, a familiar laugh. She stepped to the doorway, pulled back the hood of her cloak and shook her red hair free. The guardsman she had tricked into escorting her here barely hid a gasp, but Astrid wasn't insulted or upset. How else does one react to someone with a terribly scarred face? She performed her entrancing smile on him again, perturbing one from him. With her thumb, she wiped the blood from her chin, "You'll never see me again Ser, or speak of me to anyone. Go back to your post." Before he could snap from his trance, she disappeared through the tavern door.

A stranger, yet no one noticed. She was smacked with the smell of ale and stew. A drunken patron stumbled in front of her, winking before running into a table. Astrid most definitely was going to miss the festive taverns and wines of Antiva. She sighed and scanned the main room, full of Kirkwallers seeking someplace warm and dry. This was the sort of piss poor place her companion liked, and with their line of business it was easy to blend in and find others who were the same. As she wandered past the entrance, a voice carried over the rest. The only other female voice besides the barmaid currently cutting off a drunk man. Astrid sought out the source, until finally she found her. At a table, a flagon of ale in one hand and cards in the other, sitting with two others, was none other than Captain Isabela.

Relief flooded through Astrid.

The pirate didn't even notice her approach, instead worrying about flagging down the barmaid with her blue bandana. However the others did, which turned out be an elf and a man dressed in very shiny armor. The elf gave her a strong brooding glare as she stopped at the head of the table, slamming her hand on the hard surface. "Castillion sends his regards," Astrid smirked leaning against the table. From the corner of her eye, the elf was reaching for something, but was stopped immediately by Isabela's surprise.

"Astrid!" she sang, "Corff! Another round for me and one for my friend here!" Isabela finished her drink and forgot about her hand, tossing her cards on the table. "I guess this explains why none of Castillion's men have been sent after me of lately," she smirked, the gold piercing below her lip glittering in the tavern's candlelight.

Corff brought their drinks and Astrid took a seat across from Isabela, taking a swill from her ale before choking. Oh yes, she was going to miss Antivan wine terribly so. Her captain chuckled and her original companions looked on curiously. The one in the shiny armor was handsome and refined, with groomed hazelnut hair and the most admirable blue eyes. Then there was the elf, who continued to stare daggers in her direction. Astrid stared back. He had unusual frosty hair, but his markings made him different. "And if he had, you make it awfully easy to find you," she answered, forcing another gulp of the ale down, "but I reckon your fondness for duels would by why that is so."

"Only a friend would know that of you Isabela," commented the human, a genuine smile flashed her way. "I am Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven. Were you a part of Isabela's crew?"

She smiled and ultimately gave up on drinking, "For a time. We met in Denerim and traveled together, before I departed to settle matters." Isabella nodded knowingly.

"And what matters might that be?"

Astrid turned to the elf. _He knows. _She twitched uncomfortably and felt her scars itch beneath her gloves. "Personal matters," she retorted, giving him a warning gaze. He looked ready to snap back at her, but she stopped him. "And speaking of matters, how goes finding this Relic of ours?"

Isabela scoffed and let out an exaggerated sigh, "Anyone who says they know anything, end up knowing nothing, but—" She threw her hand up before the redhead could say anything more, "I have a good feeling we will have it back in due time."

"I do hope so, it took an awful lot of persuasion to get Castillion off our backs," Astrid answered, reminiscing.

After the Siren's Call had run a ground at the Wounded Coast, Astrid knew it was only a matter of time before the Antivan merchant would be sending for their heads for loosing the Relic. So she left Isabela in the Free Marches, glad to find herself far away from the place, and made the journey back into Antiva—which was easy considering she was not as infamous as Isabela was. However, by the time she had reached the city, Castillion had already sent his trusted henchman Hayder, and clearly he had failed. The Antivan merchant was ready to send more of his raiders after the former captain, but Astrid managed to swoop in and convince him otherwise. It took a lot of persuading—the sort of _swaying _that could only be taught from her pirate friend and a former member of the Crows.

The pirate captain chuckled, "I bet."

Astrid smirked, ready to make a witty comment, but Isabela's focus has wandered to the front of The Hanged Man. "They're back!" she shouted excitedly, almost more so than when the redhead walked through the door.

"But where is Hawke?" the elf inquired, leaving the pirate to sink back into her chair.

After templars and Cullen, suddenly there were three reasons why she shouldn't be in Kirkwall.

His voice met her first, absent of the usual charm and wit she remembered. His presence was different too—foreboding—making her scars throb unbearably. Astrid could hear mumbling and murmuring, her name maybe, but it was all drowned out by the voice in her head. _He left us. _She pinched her thigh, removing her 'second voice' and distracting herself from the shadow at her back. If she turned, he would see her. If she stood, she would draw unwanted attention to herself—especially from the elf. Astrid for the moment, was trapped.

"Sorry Rivaini, Hawke had to go home and give his poor mother the bad news." Astrid didn't know if someone's voice could be anymore smoother than his, and it momentarily distracted her form searching out an exit.

However, the mage's attention returned to her captain, who suddenly was uncharacteristically quiet and upset. "Oh," she finally piped, "No treasure?" Isabela was herself again, reaching for Astrid's abandoned drink and gulping it down.

"Plenty treasure," came that voice again from just behind her, "it's Carver."

"Carver?" Sebastian joined in.

"It was the taint—" _he_ was talking now, moving around the table. "If I hadn't come along and found those Wardens, well...as long as he survives the Joining, Hawke won't have worse news for his mother."

Astrid saw shadows move around the table. First came a dwarf, with a tenor of a bard, who immediately gave her a curious once over. Then came Anders.

The mage was still the same if you caught him in the right light, but time had aged and tired him. The familiar smirk and earring was gone, replaced with an exhausted frown and dirt. Astrid remembered him as he was at the Circle. His help prior to her Harrowing. Their romance. His escape. She never expected to see him again.

Anders rubbed his face in his hands as he sat down, across from her, oblivious. She took the moment to slid from her seat and make way to the exit. And she would have gotten away with it if it weren't for a drunken pirate.

"Astrid! Where you going, you just got here?" Isabela shouted after her.

The mage froze and cursed under her breath as she heard a moment of surprise behind her.

"Astrid..." Anders voice carried over the commotion that still surrounded them, "Astrid Amell?" She only turned her head, narrowing her eyes at him. "It—it is you!" he stood and came around the table towards her. She immediately stepped out of reach, feeling uneasy in his direct presence. "I had heard what happened at the Circle, but I never thought you'd end up here—" he touched her arm and immediately they both recoiled. Astrid noticed his eyes spark unusually and the voice in her head was growling angrily. Anders, curious, reached for contact again.

She replied by swinging, her knuckles colliding with Anders' long narrow nose. He fumbled back, knocking over a chair and sprawled across the tavern floor. Silence filled the room.

"I taught her that!" Isabela sang proudly.

Astrid rubbed her fist. The Maker sure had a sense of humor tonight. She inhaled and cooled her flaring temper, "Do not touch me." Anders was trying to stop the bleeding in his nose, his face wide-eyed and shocked. The same look Cullen had given her. Astrid stumbled back, anxiety hitting her like a bolt of lightning. She didn't say anything else, but left The Hanged Man—fleeing for the second time that night.

Before the door swung close, the dwarfs voice carried after her. "I smell a story."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry that this took so long to update, for the life of me I couldn't think of where to go with the next chapter. But recently the story has been getting some love and attention from readers, so I finally sat down and got back to work. I'm pretty satisfied with the chapter, I think my only dilemma is whether to have Cullen and Astrid's POVS either split into separate chapters or do as I did here? Let me know what you guys think. My plan is to introduce Hawke in the next chapter, so hopefully that goes well and is a sooner update than this was. Enjoy!**

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_**OLD FRIENDS**_

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She was yelling, but Astrid couldn't hear herself. Frigid, howling wind was deafening as she stood at the end of her world. Lake Calenhad was in turmoil beneath her feet as the dock swayed against the current, a strong hand all that was helping in keeping her balanced. "Go to Kirkwall—" she heard him say. Astrid stared at him surprised, she would not get far once the templars got their hands on her phylactery. The mage opened her mouth to protest, instead her savior pulled her into his chest and pressed his lips to hers. Astrid fell still and her mind blank, unable to remove herself from the templar's embrace. Then, as quickly as he had kissed her, the templar was pushing her off the dock. Astrid's breath left her as she sank into the black water, sinking into the darkness...

Astrid woke, fighting for breath and tangled in an unfamiliar blanket. The bed she had slept in was ornate and warm, tucked under a window that was streaming morning light. Her heart was still pounding from the dream and she could feel the sweat about her brow. A sigh passed through her dry lips. She should have never come to Kirkwall.

"You're awake." Movement following the voice surprised Astrid, who instinctively reached for the blade normally at her hip. However, the sword was missing and a further stretch down her leg revealed her dagger too was removed. She turned, prepared to use magic as a last resort, but instead was momentarily relieved to see a familiar face. In the doorway was the man from last night, the one with the shiny armor. His name had left her, but she recalled him being much friendlier than the elf.

The mage stretched and gave the man a pondering glare, "How did I get here?" Rubbing her temple, Astrid tried to remember the night prior. She had smuggled herself into Kirkwall, knocked skulls with Cullen, manipulated a templar, and punched Anders. Anything after that was a fog.

"Found you sleeping outside the Chantry," his foreign tongue rolled beautifully through his words, adding more allure to his handsome features. The man wandered closer to the bed and perched himself on the end. "I figured it might be warmer inside."

"Wait—" Astrid's head began to pound and her whole body grew fidgety. "Did you say the Chantry?" The man barely had a moment to nod in response before she had flung herself from the bed. She glanced desperately around the room, hoping to find her missing weapons before making a quiet exit from the building.

"Something wrong?" the helpful man inquired, watching her with intense interest.

The mage stilled and sunk back into the bed, touching the dry blood on her chin and careful not to break, "I should never have come to Kirkwall."

It was an hour later that Astrid found her way back to The Hanged Man. Sebastian—his name came back to her after they had a chat about where her weapons went—kindly led her the way, all the while determined to sway her averse opinion of the Chantry. His love and devotion for the cloth was almost intoxicating, almost. However, the mage felt herself involuntary cringe as the man went on and on. She had a few fond memories of the Chantry—some of which did not belong in a place of prayer—but there was one that stood above the rest and would forever be embedded in the scars that marked her body. Astrid had tried to go to the Chantry last night to seek comfort from the rain and dark thoughts following her about, instead she had left more irked than before and ended up punching Anders.

"I'm sure last night was a bit of a shock for you, running into so many familiar faces at once," Sebastian noticed the redhead's disinterest and chose to change the subject.

Astrid scoffed, "Isabela was a planned surprise. Anders—not so much." She followed him down the steps into Lowtown, careful not to trip on the loose stones.

"Ah yes," he laughed, surprising her when his accent was evident then too. "And your templar friend too."

They were at the door to The Hanged Man, her fingers curled around the handle. Astrid turned, trying to hide the surprise in her face. "He must have saw me bring you inside," Sebastian continued, "Although you were deep in sleep, he asked to see you safe inside. I hope you don't mind." He turned and saw her gaze lingered in the distance, fingers touching her chin again. "Astrid?" He waited, hoping for a response, but instead was met with the continued silence. So, he cleared his throat and politely excused himself, "I should return to the Chantry, Grand Cleric Elthina is expecting my help with a sermon later. Perhaps we can continue later on."

"Thank you," she barely whispered. Without meeting his gaze, she slipped into the tavern.

The Hanged Man wasn't as lively as the night before. The few patrons left were nursing hangovers and snoozing loudly at their tables. Astrid scanned the room again for her captain, taking note of everyone in the room. That is when she spotted the smooth talking dwarf, sitting alone and waving her his way. The redhead was naturally hesitant, taking careful strides towards him, keeping an eye on the exit. He was speaking with the bar-maiden when she reached his table, contemplating where to sit. "Sit wherever you like, my lady," the dwarf suddenly said, "I don't bite."

Astrid sat beside him, with a clear view of the exit. "Isabela is not here."

The dwarf chuckled and picked apart his bread, "Oh she's here." She turned to him, interest piqued, but arms now crossed tightly. "She's past out in my bed, wouldn't leave me alone about Hawke. And then, was going on and on about how she made a woman out of you." He was laughing again, although it was probably because Astrid's face had gone red. "Give her a couple minutes Red, she'll come stumbling out," he went on to wager. The waitress came back, putting a plate of food in front of Astrid. She eyed it cautiously, but the dwarf only smiled and continued to eat himself.

She couldn't remember the last time she had had a decent meal. Castillion liked to spoil her with lavish clothing and fancy foods, but as soon as she had set sail back to Kirkwall, she had to resort to piss poor stews and sea water. "Thank you—I never caught your name," she stumbled, savoring the tavern food more than she should of.

"Varric Tethras m'lady," he answered, toasting to his name. Astrid joined too, taking a long swig of the terrible ale. "So elves huh?"

Every drop of ale came sputtering from her mouth, drawing awake a fellow in the corner. Astrid wiped her mouth, listening to the dwarf laugh again.

"Isabela!"

The Siren's Call's captain was suddenly stumbling down stairs that lead to the back rooms, rubbing her eyes. She was without her usual thigh-high leather boots, hair her was wild and untamed, and somehow a gold earring had gone missing in the night. Isabela looked from Varric, who was choking from laughter, to the furious redhead. "Whatever it is, I had nothing to do with it," the pirate grumbled through a yawn, keeping out of reach from Astrid. She slinked into the bench and stole the mage's cup of ale. "Unless it was illegal and fun," she quickly added.

"How much did you tell him last night?" Astrid interrogated, dark cobalt eyes narrowed at her captain.

Isabela paused and turned to Varric, "Where did I stop last night?"

"Ah, I think it was right after the demon told you to crash your ship into the Wounded Coast," Varric answered nonchalantly. At some point he had pulled out a journal, pointing at the last page covered in scribbles. "Or was it because you were drunk—"

_He probably knows now..._

Astrid felt the length of her spine go cold and her mouth went dry.

"—so...everything," the pirate answered, mouth full of what was left of her companion's breakfast.

Isabela's voice was distant, almost a ghostly whisper compared to the throaty laugh in her head. She felt her fist shake and moved to still it with her other hand, hoping to be unnoticed. However, the dwarf was sharp and took note of the redhead's change in demeanor. He cleared his throat and smiled at the mage, "Don't worry Red, all your secrets are safe with me." Astrid couldn't remember the last time she heard a genuine voice, it was strangely comforting, and brought pause to speech in her head. Partially relieved, the mage relaxed and weakened her glare. "Just between you and me though, what was it like to punch Anders in the nose?"

She smiled.

* * *

The Knight-Captain was awake early, at the very moment of dawn, but could not bring himself to leave the warmth of his bed. He was expected to start investigating the disappearances of some of the recruits, but Cullen was rather distracted. He had spent the night tossing and turning through one sultry dream into another, some he wasn't even aware his imagination was capable of. Culled sighed loudly, hoping the baths were empty. He needed to drown himself in cold water, and soon. It all came back to her. Astrid. Seeing her again was an unusual feeling. Time had finally hardened him into the templar he was meant to be, the Commander had entrusted him to be her captain. He was well respected and admired, he finally understood what it meant to be a templar. But seeing her, living and breathing before him, Cullen was ready to risk it all just to hold her again. Even a handshake would suffice.

"The Order dictates..." he whispered sadly, hiding his face with his arm, angry at himself for attempting to drag her to the Gallows. Cullen didn't know why she was here, free of Kinloch Hold and wielding a sword, but what remained of the man that she once knew didn't care. She survived the Blight, she survived a voyage across the Waking Sea, and was now surviving Kirkwall.

He recalled mindlessly returning to the Chantry before his shift was over, hopeful he would come across her again. Cullen made an excuse to convince himself it was okay to re-walk this part of Hightown, to take the grand steps up to the Chantry and make his entrance. Warmth met him again, as well as silence. A part of him prayed to see her sitting there, waiting—but there was no one. The Chantry was empty. Cullen stopped himself from sighing with disappointment and turned to leave, he should not have been chasing ghosts anyways. But then a light caught his eye through an open door upstairs._  
_

Cullen ascended the stairs, eyes kept on the flickering light. And there she was.

He carefully approached her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Astrid was deep asleep. Cullen gazed at her, both longingly and with guilt. The years had matured her, obvious through the deep cut in her robe, exposing tempting flesh and scars that went along the curve of her breast. She bared many new scars, too many new scars that had Cullen curling his fingers into fists—he didn't want to know how she came about them. She no longer looked the part of a mage—naive to the world—but that of a warrior. The templar carefully sat on the bed beside her and reached for her. His fingers traced a thick healing scar that ran the center of her chest. Mages don't carry battle wounds. Cullen gritted his teeth. He wanted to feel her skin again, to run his fingers through her hair, and touch those barely parted lips. For once, he was grateful for the dreadful gloves he wore.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry for leaving you."

The templar forced himself to stand, to walk away from the woman he he could never forget. Begrudgingly, he ripped his eyes from her and stepped quietly back into the hall—where he was immediately met with a Chantry Brother.

"Captain, what brings you here so late?" Cullen began stutter and stumble through his words, nothing audible coming out. The Brother looked at Astrid and back to him, "Do you know her ser?"

Cullen met his gaze and caught his nerves, "We are old friends."

Without another word, Cullen had left the Chantry and made a straight path to the barracks, and had a racing mind since then. A sigh left his lips, he was trying to forget the contours of her scar he still felt on his fingers and ache he'd been ignoring since returning last night. The Knight-Captain rolled from his mattress and stretched, moving his focus back to the day's tasks. _Visit the Blooming Rose for answers...ask the other recruits about suspicious activity...cold bath.__  
_


End file.
